Ephemeral Flowers
by thatmeddlingkid
Summary: While walking in the woods, Davie comes across a little boy named America. "Davie" from Davie's perspective.
1. Summer

Davie wiped the sweat off his brow as the summer sun beat down upon him. It was getting to be the hot part of the day, which meant that his mother would want him home soon. He sighed. Another day searching for something to occupy his time had passed, and Davie was still just as bored as ever.

Out of the dozen or so families that made up his "town", not a single one had a single child to play with. Well, no one worth playing with anyway. The older ones were too busy working and the younger ones were too little to do anything fun. The only other kid his age was dumb Sarah Sullivan, who made faces at him in church. Besides, she was a girl, so they weren't supposed to play together anyway. Davie tried to distract himself from his loneliness through a number of pointless activities including, as of today, trying to find all of the wildflowers pictured in one of his father's books. His mother had chuckled when he told her his plan saying that it was much too late in the year to find wildflowers, that they had all died months ago. Davie huffed when he heard that, and assured her that he could do it.

So far, he couldn't do it. He groaned at the thought of walking in empty-handed, but the sweltering heat won out and he began sauntering back home. Davie didn't get far before he heard a voice in the distance. It was saying something he couldn't quite make out, but he immediately recognized it as that of a child. His spirits immediately lifted as he followed the sound.

Soon, he came across a clearing. Sitting in the middle of the grass talking animatedly to a small rabbit was a little blonde boy. He looked to be just a few years younger than Davie.

"Hey!" Davie shouted out, giddy with excitement. The boy jumped a little and turns around, clearly startled by the sudden noise. Davie ran up to him, paying little attention to his fearful expression.

"I'm Davie!" he introduced himself, "What's your name?"

The boy blinked. "They call me America," he replied shyly.

"America?" Davie's face scrunched in confusion. "That's a funny name."

The boy, America, narrowed his eyes.

"Woah, hey! Don't get upset! I'm sorry. Your name isn't funny." Davie wracked his brain to think of a way to change the subject.

"Are you new here?" he asked.

America shrugged. "Kind of. I haven't been here in a while. We moved from up north."

"Wow, that's great! I was the only kid here for a long time and it wasn't very fun. It's boring playing by yourself all of the time." America nodded in agreement. "Hey, speaking of which, you wouldn't have happened to see any wildflowers nearby, would you?"

"No,' he replied with a shake of his head, "It's too late for wildflowers."

Davie crossed his arms. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Why are you looking for wildflowers?"

"I'm trying to find every plant in this big book we have at home. So far, I haven't had any luck." Davie frowned for a moment before lighting up again. "Hey, do you want to help me?"

For the first time since they started talking, America grinned.

As the two made their way back to Davie's house, they talked about themselves. Davie told America all about his family and daily life. America quietly listened to it all, a small smile on his face. Finally, when Davie ran out of things to say, he turned to his companion with interest.

"Why did you move down here?"

"I got in trouble with the people in the town we lived in, so my big brother and I had to leave." America looked down with a guilty expression.

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" Davie couldn't think of anything a kid his age could do that would warrant such a drastic decision.

"They tried to hang me."

Davie's head snapped up. "What?"

"They thought I was a witch, so they tried to hang me."

Somehow, that seemed unlikely. "Why did they think that?

America shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not supposed to say."

Davie rolled his eyes. "Come on! You can't say something and just leave at that!"

A look of uncertainty passed over the younger boy's face. "Well, okay. Um, I'm really strong. Stronger than a lot of people. And when I get hurt, I get better really fast. Also, I don't grow. I've been little for a long time."

He was clearly lying, but Davie didn't want to call him out on it. I mean, when he was that age, he told outlandish stories too, and frankly, he wasn't about to throw away a chance at friendship over something so silly. Instead, he tried humoring him.

"Wow, how did you get all of those powers?"

America smiled sheepishly. "My big brother says that God made everyone special, and that's the kind of special he made us." Suddenly, his face fell. "One time though, when he was really upset, he said that God forgot about us, but I don't know if I believe that."

Davie wished he hadn't said anything. Luckily, the conversation stopped when they finally reached his house. When Davie opened the door to the modest cabin, he found his father sitting in the main room cleaning his gun. That meant…

"Daddy, did you shoot something?" he asked excitedly. His father smiled and nodded to the back of the cabin where the kitchen was located. There, Davie's mother stood cooking something in the single large pot that they owned.

"I got a couple of opossums. Your mother's making them into a stew. And today's Saturday, so that means…"

"We get to eat it tonight!" Davie punched the air. His father glanced past him.

"Who's your friend, Davie?"

Davie turned to look at America, who he was embarrassed to admit that he had momentarily forgotten about. The little boy stood in the doorway looking wide-eyed and nervous. Davie gripped his hand and ushered him in.

"This is America. He just moved here. I was going to show him your big book with the plants."

His father hummed in response and smiled before turning his attention back to the gun. Davie led his new friend towards the old trunk that sat in the corner of the room. America watched with curiosity as he pulled out the giant book and lifted it triumphantly in the air.

"Look at this," Davie said with a smile as he flipped it open. America leaned over his shoulder to peer at the page. A small gasp escaped from his mouth as his eyes scanned the pictures.

"They're so pretty," he whispered, "I didn't know there were books with pictures like this."

Davie laughed at his wonder. "You've never seen a book with pictures before?"

America shook his head. "No. None of my brother's books have any. They just have words."

"Wow," Davie sighed, "That must be boring. Does he ever read them to you?"

"He used to, but he gets busy a lot. Most of the time I just read them by myself."

"You can read?"

America shrugged. "My brother taught me a while ago."

Davie nodded, impressed. He then backed away from the book to allow America to get a better look. The younger boy carefully tuned the pages, every new picture eliciting a new sound of amazement.

"You see," Davie explained, "What I'm trying to do is find every single flower in this book. So far, I've found all but one. Let me show you." He reached over and flipped the page to reveal another illustration. The flower it pictured had bright blue petals and a yellow center.

"Woah," America exclaimed as he pointed to the paper, "I've never seen a flower like that before!" He squinted at the words next to it. "It's called a forget-me-not. That's a funny name for a flower."

 _That was rich coming from a boy called America,_ Davie thought privately. "I've looked everywhere for that one, but still no luck."

America opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Davie's mother calling from the kitchen. "Dinner is ready."

The boys turned to look. Davie's parents both smiled at America.

"Would your friend like to stay for dinner?" his father asked.

"No," America answered, "It's okay. You don't have to."

"Are you sure? We have plenty to share tonight."

Davie watched as the boy took a moment to think it over. "Okay," he finally agreed, "If it's not a problem."

America acted like he had never eaten before. Between every bite of stew, he talked about how good it tasted and how his brother's attempts at cooking always ended in disaster. Davie's mother blushed at the compliments and his father laughed at the earnestness of the boy. When they were done, he thanked them over and over again for the meal.

Outside, the sun had already set, and the only light came from the full moon and the lantern that hung by the door. Davie's mother looked out the window with concern.

"Is your mother expecting you, dear?" she asked America.

He looked down at the ground with a small frown and shrugged. "I guess so."

Davie put a hand on his back. "Hey, it's alright. We'll see each other again."

At that, America perked up a bit. "Really?"

"Yeah, real soon."

A wide grin appeared on his face. "Okay!"

After America said good-bye to Davie's parents, the boys walked outside together. Before leaving, America turned to face the older boy.

"Hey Davie," he said, "I'm going to look real hard for that flower you want, and when I find it, I'll bring it straight over. I promise!"

"That sounds great," Davie replied, "I'll be waiting."

"Good-bye, Davie!" America called as he headed into the woods.

"Good-bye, America!" Davie called back as he waved at his new friend.

 **A/N**

 **This fic is anachronistic af, especially the dialog, and honestly, it bothers me a little bit. :/**

 **But at the same time, I don't really feel like doing a plethora of research over something that I'm sure only a couple of people would care about.**

 **I did get a few things in there though. For one, apparently Colonial Americans didn't eat meat on Mondays, Wednesdays, or Fridays as well as during Lent or Advent. I don't know how they did it. I stopped eating meat on Fridays last Lent and it was torture. Then again, I'm used to the luxury of not living in Colonial America. Those guys were seriously troopers.**

 **Anyway, this fic will have five chapter in all, including an epilog. I'm writing it because I've written comedy and horror, and I wanted to try writing tragedy. There's really not a lot of sad material in Hetalia, but when it gets sad, it gets** _ **sad**_ **.**


	2. Fall

A cool autumn breeze blew through the trees, drifting the dying leaves to the ground. Beneath the fall of the warm colors, a modest town bustled with people preparing recently harvested food for the long winter ahead of them. Davie stood upon the front porch of his house along with his friend, John, sweeping up the remains of the Martinmas celebration from the day before. The two young men accompanied their work with light chatter.

"I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with living here," John assured, "I just want to branch out a bit, you know? Haven't you ever thought about seeing what this new world has to offer?

"Yeah," Davie answered truthfully, "But I think I'd rather just settle down here, start a family."

John shrugged. "Do what you want, I suppose. But before you start a family, you'll need to get married."

"Well, I do have someone in mind," Davie mused while blushing.

"Is it Sarah Sullivan?"

"Who told you?"

"Everybody knows, Davie. We've all seen how you two look at each other in church and it's not exactly subtle."

Davie blushed even harder. "I was going to talk to parents on Monday to ask if I could court her. I hope things go alright."

"Don't worry. The marriage pool in this town is limited, so they really don't have much of a choice."

"Wow. I appreciate your unwavering faith in me."

John opened his mouth to answer only to be interrupted by a shout in the distance. The two men immediately turned their heads to look for the source. Out of the nearby woods, a little boy came running.

"Do you know that kid?" John asked.

"I…I don't think so," he replied. Honestly, the child looked vaguely familiar, as if Davie had seen him before, but at the same time his blond hair and blue eyes weren't particularly out of place in the area. There was a good chance he was thinking of someone else.

"Davie!" the boy shouted again.

"Well, he knows you."

They watched as the child raced up to the house. His little arms flailed about as he babbled on, not paying any attention to the confused expressions of the two men.

"Davie, I looked for the flower, but I couldn't find it. It's okay though, we can still look for it together."

John leaned forward and whispered. "What's he talking about?"

Davie shrugged, completely bewildered. "Something about a flower, I don't know."

Finally, the little boy noticed Davie's less than ecstatic reaction. His hopeful expression crumpled in to one of intense worry. "Davie, are you mad because I couldn't find the flower? I'm really sorry. I looked everywhere for it, I really did."

"Let's get out of here," John urged, "This kid is freaking me out."

Davie nodded in agreement and began following his friend through the doorway of the house. The little boy shouted as them as they left. "Davie, please don't be mad at me! Please! I'll find that flower for you I promise! Just please talk to me!"

Davie gave him one last glance before shutting the door.

 **A.N.**

 **Just in case anyone was curious about the name of this fic, Ephemeral Flowers is the name of the song that plays during the anime version of the Davie strip. It's also the term for plants that bloom for only a short period of time and remain dormant for the rest of the year. It's rather poetic, don't you think?**

 **Anyway, speaking of flowers, I would have had this chapter done a couple of days ago, but I went to the Battle of Flowers parade. Battle of Flowers is a citywide holiday in San Antonio that kicks off Fiesta, which is this huge festival we hold every year to commemorate the Battle of the Alamo. Personally though, I think it's just an excuse to throw a parade, because we seriously have them for any holiday you could think of. Not that I'm complaining.**


	3. Winter

It was the dead of winter, and the normally active town was still as its residents silently prepared for what looked like the first snowy night of the season. Davie sat upon the front porch of his house, reading out loud from the children's fairy tale book that had been passed down his family for generations. His daughter, Lydia, stood next to him and listened in quiet awe to the fantastic tales of the old world. Davie's wife, Sarah, gazed lovingly at the two as she stood in the doorway of the modest cabin. The small family passed the time as they eagerly waited for the first sight of snow. Suddenly, a small voice cut though the calm.

"Davie, Davie!"

The three looked up to see a little blond boy leaning on their fence.

"I finally found the forget-me-not," the child shouted in excitement, "Well, not really. I don't have it with me right now. But I know where it is! I looked all over the place and I couldn't find it anywhere and you were mad at me, do you remember that? Well, you don't have to be mad anymore because I found it. Sort of. It's not here, it's at my big brother's house! And he promised he's going to go get it for me when he goes back. Davie, do you know what that means? It means we're finally going to get it! I don't know when yet, my big brother is sometimes gone for a really long time, but he promised, so it's definitely going to happen and when I get it I'm coming straight here!"

The three stared in shock. Lydia looked up at her father, a questioning look in her eyes. "David," Sarah whispered, "Who is that boy? What's going on?" Davie shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he replied under his breath.

Not noticing, or perhaps not caring about, the family's reaction, the child rambled on an on. With a quick glance at his wife, Davie stood up from his chair and approached him. Lydia, wide-eyed, followed closely behind him and cautiously peeked over his shoulder as he squatted down in front of the boy.

"Hey," Davie interrupted, firmly, but with a kind tone, "Are you lost?" He reached over and gently ruffled the boy's hair.

The child, taken aback by Davie's words, quieted immediately.

"Where's your daddy and mommy?" Davie pushed on, "Are you looking for them?"

The little boy opened and closed his mouth a few times as he shook his head. "I…I don't have a daddy or mommy," he answered softly.

Davie's heart dropped at the sight of the tears welling up in his eyes. "No, don't cry," he pleaded, "Everything's going to be alright. Why don't you tell us your name?"

The boy froze for a split second before a look of devastating realization appeared on his face. "You don't remember me." It was a cross between a statement and a question. The boy slowly backed up, out from under Davie's hand and away from the three bewildered figures. His head shook in disbelief. "You don't even know my name."

Davie's mouth hung open as he struggled to find an appropriate response, but his mind drew a complete blank. He felt a heavy weight in his stomach as he watched the little boy's shoulders slump in frustration. Then, after a moment, the child's face darkened with determination.

"I'll get that flower for you, Davie," he assured as he turned away from the family, "I promise." He began heading into the woods that lined the outskirts of town.

Davie called out to him, telling him to come back, that it was too cold to be wandering around outside, but it was too late. The little boy disappeared into the darkness.

 **A/N:**

 **After a couple of times reading through the Davie strip, I noticed that the town keeps getting bigger the longer time passes. That's a nice touch.**


	4. Spring

White fluffy clouds drifted lazily across the bright blue sky as the calls of songbirds, signaling the end of the harsh winter, seemed to be the only sign of cheerfulness in the quiet city. Sam sat alone in a nearby meadow, knees pulled up to his chest and tears in his eyes. As much as he tried to ignore the gross contrast between the sweet avian cries and his somber mood, the bitterness within him grew larger and larger.

 _Mother Nature rarely heeds the want of man._ That's what his grandfather used to say. The image of him chuckling at his grandson's disappointed grumblings about dreary weather and the like popped into Sam's head. When his grandfather smiled, a million little creases deepened around his blue eyes. Sam had those same eyes, along with the rest of his face, albeit several decades younger. It used to be a novel thing. People would smile at them and call them two peas in a pod. Now when they looked at Sam's face, they teared up.

Sam, sick of making people cry, snuck away from the crowd to mourn in peaceful solitude. At least, that was the original plan. Now, however, the birds' utter disregard for funerary etiquette was grating him more and more until…

"SHUT UP!" he screamed. Sam grabbed a nearby stone, hopped to his feet and angrily threw it in the general direction of the treetops. The tweeting was replaced by the sounds of flapping wings for a moment before the meadow was plunged into near silence broken only by Sam's rugged breaths.

"Davie!" a child's voice cut through the air. Sam wiped away his tears and turned his head towards the sound. A little boy stood at the edge of the meadow waving around a bouquet of blur flowers.

"Davie!" he cried again, "I got them! I finally got them!" He stumbled over to Sam and thrust the bouquet into his hands.

He was there for the funeral, that much was clear, but he didn't seem to understand what was going on. He seemed pretty young. He'd probably never been to one before. Sam figured his parents let him run on ahead of him. Unfortunately, he was running in the wrong direction.

"Follow me," Sam ordered with a sigh.

The two children made their way to the old log cabin that had been in Sam's family for generations, the little boy's carefree skipping reminding Sam irritatingly of the birds he had just scared away. When they finally reached the yard full of people, however, his cheerful attitude faltered as he began to take notice of the somber atmosphere. Sam paused for a moment, then pressed his lips into a tight line when he caught sight of the foreboding wooden box that stood in the middle of the area. With a deep breath he moved forward before stopping as close to the coffin as he could bear which was, as of now, about a foot away. Confusion passed over the little boy's small features as he watched Sam throw the bouquet unceremoniously into the casket. He took a tentative step closer and peered over the edge.

"Davie?" he repeated as he stuck out his tiny hand to pluck one of the flowers out of the bouquet. Sam nodded, but inside he knew that the thing in the box wasn't his grandfather, not really. Sam's grandpa was funny and kind and _alive._ This was just an empty husk that looked like him. The little boy seemed to catch on to this, as he simply stared at the body in silence.

"Samuel!" a stern voice called out through the crowd. Sam turned to see his mother making her way towards him. "Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you. It's almost time to…"

Her jaw dropped when she saw the little boy.

"Samuel," she began slowly, her eyes still glued to the child, "did you bring him here?"

"Yes," he answered, "Is everything alright?"

But his mother payed him no attention as she cautiously approached the small figure.

"Hey," she said as she placed her hand gently on his shoulder and kneeled down to his level, "It's been a long time, and I look a little different, but do you remember me?"

He studied her for a moment before a look of recognition appeared. "You're the girl who was with Davie!" he gasped.

"That's right," she answered with a teary smile, "I'm Lydia. Davie was my daddy."

"Your daddy?"

"Uh-huh. And he would have been so happy to see you."

"But he forgot about me." Tears welled up in the little boy's eyes, "He didn't even know who I was."

Lydia pulled him into a tight hug. "No, sweetheart, you've got it all wrong. He didn't forget about you. He was just confused because you looked the same as you did when he was a little boy."

By this time, Sam had had enough of trying to follow along. "Mom," he interjected, "What's going on?"

Having forgotten about him, Lydia looked up in slight surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sam. Let me explain." She let go of the boy and turned slightly to face her son. "But first, you have to promise me that you'll be open-minded about this."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"I first met him when I was a little girl. He came to grandpa about Forget-Me-Nots, but grandpa didn't know who he was, so he ran away. I remember asking grandpa what a Forget-Me-Not was, because I had never heard of them before, so he showed me his huge plant book."

"The one with the pretty pictures?" the boy asked eagerly.

"Yes," Lydia replied, her voice cracking slightly, "The one with the pretty pictures. And when my daddy looked through the book, he finally remembered where he knew you from. He told me all about it."

Sam listen incredulously as she recounted her father's stories about the strange little boy. He didn't know what to think about the whole thing. They expected him to believe that his kid hadn't aged in over _half a century_. It was insane, yet at the same time, there was no sign of any sort of insincerity. By the time Lydia had finished her tale, both she and the boy had tears rolling down their faces.

"I'm sorry I took so long," he sobbed, "I didn't mean to. I thought I had more time. I didn't know he would be…"

Lydia hugged him again. "Shh, it's okay. Hey, do you remember what the words next to the picture said."

The little boy shook his head. "I didn't read all of it."

"They said that Forget-Me-Nots are for remembering those that are no longer with us."

"Really?"

Lydia nodded then looked between the two boys. "We can all remember together. Will you do that with me?"

The boys nodded in return. Assuring them that she would be back in a moment, Lydia left to talk to the priest. Sam turned to the boy and took a good look at him. He was still small, with stubby limbs and chubby cheeks, but when Sam looked into his eyes, he saw a tiredness that could only come from decades of living. It seemed as if he should have been unnerved by the presence of this strange being, but Sam felt no fear. He did, however, hold a great deal of curiosity.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"They call me America," the little boy answered.

"No, I mean, _what_ are you?"

"I'm not sure."

They locked eyes for a moment before Lydia returned, telling them it was time to go to the cemetery. She held out her hand for America to hold and he gladly took it. Sam stepped up to him and slipped his finger into America's other hand. The smaller child responded with a watery smile and first time since his grandfather died, Sam smiled back.

Above the trio, in the trees that surrounded the modest cabin, the sweet calls of songbirds once again drifted through the air. In that moment, all three were content with the feeling that everything would be alright.

 **A/N**

 **Sam's feelings about looking like Davie are based off of the experiences of my stepfather, who is the spitting image of his own late father.**

 **On a slightly related and (possibly) lighter note, did you know that the United States is the world's foremost leader in mortuary science? I learned that in my forensics class. Also, coroners are surprisingly affable.**

 **Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than the others. I had it all written, then my computer crashed so I lost everything and had to rewrite it.**

 **Anyway, I want to thank ya'll for reading this story as well as ask ya'll your opinions. I was originally planning on having an epilogue for this story, but I also like the way it ends here. Should I end it here, or add another chapter? Please give me some feedback in the comments.**


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